


Old Silk Hat He Found

by gala_apples



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Crush, M/M, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:38:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It may or may not be a magic hat that makes Ray check out Brendon. Opinions vary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Silk Hat He Found

Brendon likes doing winter tours more than Spencer. Sometimes he thinks he likes everything more than Spencer. But whenever he tells Spencer he coasts by life on a four out of ten scale and he should come experience the eight out of ten scale, Dallon laughs and tells him he tends to rock it at a fifteen out of ten and he’s got enough enthusiasm for them all. Which, _whatever_. It’s good to have enthusiasm for life.

He likes winter tours because after getting off a stage dripping with sweat and makeup it’s nice to have a minute dash to the bus during which the wind steals all the wetness away. In the summer you just melt even more. Plus the fans get crazier, using their manicness to keep warm while waiting for fifteen hours in line for the best spot in the pit. He enjoys their fervor.

*

It’s possible it makes him manic too. _Possible_ is as far as he’ll concede, and he’ll punch Dallon when he laughs at him yet again. Winter wasn’t very wintery in Los Vegas, there was no snow when he was a kid. So what if he’s in his twenties? He was robbed of the fifteen or so years he could age-appropriately enjoy it. He can regress if he wants to.

For that matter, petty theft is probably considered a youthful offense too. It doesn’t make Brendon put the top hat back on the snowman.

*

Sometimes Brendon almost feels bad Ryan isn’t around. Like this tour, for example. It would probably be sixteen year old Ryan’s wet dream; Panic and Pete Wentz from The Black Cards and My Chemical Romance. And then he remembers while teenage Ryan was pretty cool if somewhat high maintenance, twenty three year old Ryan is a dick and he doesn’t _actually_ want him around.

Still, it takes Brendon all the willpower he has to not phone or text or Twitter or _something_ when he catches Ray Toro checking out his ass. It’s not like he didn’t know that he has a sweet ass, but there’s a difference between having self-awareness and guitar god Ray Toro who uses his hair as a personal shrine to the Gods of Rock checking it out.

*

When Brendon finally figures it out the words just slip out. If they’re maybe a bit louder than is appreciated on a bus -seriously, he’s twenty _four_ , people cannot tell him to use an ‘indoor voice’ and expect to be taken seriously- well, volume comes with shock and that’s not his fault. “Holy shit, I have a magic hat!”

He eyeballs the beautiful article and then crosses the aisleway to open Spencer’s curtain. “Spencer! Spencer Spencer Spencer! Frosty was, like, a true story!”

Ian calls from the front of the bus “no, seriously, please let him explain this,” and Brendon scowls even though he won’t be able to see it because screw him.

*

“Spencer James Smith! Stop laughing at me, fuckface!”

Spencer doesn’t seem to be listening to his request. No, order. He demands that Spencer stop laughing, and for that matter Ian and Dallon can kindly shut the fuck up too.

“Ray Toro was straight until I put this hat on. And now he wants my delicious body. If it’s not a magical hat, you explain it.” Brendon takes Spencer’s silence -okay, so it’s not really silence, more like smirky giggles but _whatever_ , there’s no words and that’s what counts- as confirmation he’s right. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Magic hat.”

*

Brendon suspects that the drivers are cousins or something, because a) they look a lot alike, and b) whenever one of them pulls over for gas the other one follows, even if the second tour bus doesn’t need gas.

This time they’re stopping at a diner. And the thing is Brendon is possibly a little bit stoned, but more importantly he is warm. Which is concerning as everything that’s not-his-bus is cold. Especially the things that have snow on them. But the real thing is that it’s not just one of them running in and taking orders of sandwiches, the entirety of My Chem is piling off the bus and into the diner. Entirety including Ray.

So Brendon crams his feet into his shoes, pulls on his lavender and blue plaid hoodie, grabs his top hat and exits the bus. The snow is gross, almost clear, and melty enough that it turns to water upon stepping on it. Brendon grabs the knees of his sweatpants and pulls them up high as he trudges to the diner. It would suck if the elastic at the bottom got wet, because he’s pretty sure Ian is wearing his other pair.

*

He resents that Spencer and Dallon and Zack have all followed him into the diner. They’re not even hungry, Dallon just said something about this being too good to not observe. Zack has his fucking iPhone out to record him like he’s an animal at the zoo.

My Chem has two tables pulled together; eight chairs amongst six members. Brendon looks at one of the empty ones, considering, but it and the one opposing it are at the left end of the table, and Ray is facing Mikey on the right end. None of the guys claim them either, instead they sit at the table nearest the right end. Zack sits straddling his chair, arm with the phone resting on the top of the backrest.

“We’re not gonna interrupt or anything. It’ll go so much better if we don’t, honestly.” Mikey doesn’t seem fazed by Zack’s explanation, but then he’s Mikey Way. He’s sort of well known for not seeming fazed by anything. Even Brendon tugging Ray’s chair back a little -it scrapes hideously on the floor- and sitting in his lap doesn’t get a blink.

*

He has no idea what city they’re in, but the important bit is there’s no snow on the ground when Brendon drops to his knees in front of Ray. Ray’s about a foot from the door of his bus, Brendon can hear Frank and James shouting something about vaginas from inside. He’s got the handle of a plastic bag wrapped around his fingers three times, and he’s obviously not expecting such a move.

But he doesn’t seem upset, or disgusted -not that he should be, when he started this, but then Brendon’s known reluctant gays before and their weird rules and reactions never actually make sense- he just runs a fingertip along the brim of Brendon’s top hat. Brendon reaches up and clamps a hand down on the flat top, not enough to squish it, just enough to prevent Ray from tipping it off.

“Later, okay?” Ray says. And Brendon doesn’t know if that’s a _let me drop off my shit gimme two minutes_ later, or a _I need to talk my guys into not heckling us on the other side of the bathroom door, it’s gonna be a twenty minute debate_ later, or a _the next hotel night_ later, or a _this is a mistake, and I can keep saying later until the tour is over and avoid it completely_ later. But he agrees anyway.

*

They always say they’re going to use hotel nights to find somewhere to party, use the time to actually have a life beyond performing for others. And yet every time the lure of queen sized mattresses and those special velvety blankets you can only find in hotels and as many pillows as you can dare to call front desk for is far stronger than the lure of drinking some place with flashing lights. Brendon’s been under the blankets reading by the pen light pinned to his book for three hours, and it’s much better than a bar.

Ian is asleep in the other bed when the door is knocked on, leaving Brendon with the choice of ignoring it or answering it. Technically Brendon shouldn’t go near it. If it’s a swarm of fangirls that somehow found out their location Zack is going to kick his ass when he finds out they shaved him bald to each take hanks of hair home. But his phone is charging on the bathroom sink beside the hair dryer, and it’s honestly easier to open it than attempt to find Ian’s phone so he can text the cavalry. Besides, he’s with My Chem and BC. If the fangirls are going to attack anyone it’ll be Pete or Gerard.

It’s not a horde of teenagers. It’s Ray, and his hands are tucked into his jean pockets, pulling them down a bit with the weight, the placement of his hands rucking his shirt up. If Brendon stares with enough concentration he can see slivers of skin.

“So later means a day and a half then,” Brendon says.

“Looks like,” Ray answers.

*

When Ray pulls back from the kiss, Brendon thinks for a frantic, utterly ridiculous moment that it’s because he’s not wearing the hat. Not that anyone could expect him to be. It’s a hotel night. If there’s a band member in this hotel wearing more than boxers and a t-shirt Brendon will Tweet that Ryden exists. Shit, he should do it anyway, just to piss him off. But that’s an idea for a different time, right now Brendon’s only concerned about why Ray’s tongue isn’t in his mouth anymore.

Apparently it’s so he can _talk_. “You’re not going to wake him up?”

Brendon shrugs. “Could, I guess.” He doesn’t really care, but if it’s gonna be a dealbreaker for Ray he needs to fix it now. He shakes Ian until he shudders. With Ian movement comes back before eyesight or vocals, so he knows it’s okay to attempt communication. “Me and Ray are going to fuck. Do you want to go back to sleep or do you want to leave and I’ll text you when we’re done?”

Ian doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even open his eyes, he just takes his keycard and shuffles out in the hallway barefoot in his Snoopy boxers. Brendon wonders for a second where he’s planning on going, as the lobby would be a shitty choice. Then he remembers he doesn’t care because Ray’s zipper is still done up and that’s a crime against humanity.

*

It’s probably cliched as fuck to say guitarists have good fingers, but Brendon doesn’t give a shit. Brendon isn’t looking for the metaphor in this situation, doesn’t need flouncing phrases, he just wants the mattress to be a bit harder so he can brace his feet against it easier. Ray’s kneeling at the edge, the piece of shit bed is sagging but at least it hasn’t flipped over completely.

There’s no question about it, Ray’s got good fingers. Brendon knows better than to compliment him for them, not so much because he doesn’t want to, more because if he does then later when he relates this story to the guys they’ll laugh for an hour straight about it. So he just bites his lip, bottom teeth digging into his upper lip hard enough to sting as Ray twists his hand, and godfuckingdamnit, if the mattress wasn’t so soft it would be easier to rock forward.

*

“Okay, seriously though? I think you should start fucking me now. We’re old men now, we only come once, don’t wanna waste it.” Not that coming just from Ray freakin Toro touching him would be a waste of time, but he’d really rather get fucked.

“My condom’s in my jeans, which are by the door. Are yours closer?”

Rather than answer that, Brendon stands and scurries to the crumpled denim. Explaining why Spencer holds all the condoms for the band will only make Ray laugh and kill Brendon’s erection.

*

It’s not much of a surprise that Ray is a stretch. Brendon’s been subsisting on awkwardly crooked fingers for weeks. The first time his dildo dropped onto the floor from it’s safe spot nestled against his hip sticky some time in the night one someone threw it in the garbage. Taping a reward notice on the bathroom door got no results. His friends are assholes, and they owe him a new one. If he doesn’t get a new one by the end of the tour he is telling Mrs Smith, Mrs Weekes, and Mrs Crawford they stole from him. It’s a good threat because they know he’ll follow through.

It’s great though. Past the initial oh my _god_ , what is _that_ , it’s great. If you can only get one fuck a month, it should be by someone with a nice cock. That Ray doesn’t mind holding him down is an added bonus.

*

While Ray is in the bathroom scrubbing the come off his chest and neck -he didn’t believe Brendon when he said he had a high arch, but Brendon doesn’t lie about that kind of thing- Brendon stands and for the second time hustles to Ray’s jeans. Not for condoms. Even if they could get it up again his ass is not available for a second go and Ray doesn’t seem like a bottom. He needs something else.

He checks both normal pockets before finding it in one of the back pockets no one ever puts anything in, because who wants to sit on their pointy keys or fragile lip glosses? Figures Ray would be contrary. 

It’s not he’s fucking over Ray by stealing his keycard. Whoever he’s rooming with will let him in. It’s just...a souvenir. He has the distinct feeling Ray’s not going to be hanging out with him all of a sudden. One night stands don’t become besties, the possible exception being Pete and Mikey Way. Keeping the condom is gross, a keycard is better. And if he uploads a picture onto an unassociated account and DM’s it to Ryan, well, who needs to know?


End file.
